Children of the Fire
by Spirit of a Rose
Summary: ON HIATUS. The mission is fairly simple: hunt down the two rogue djinn by order of the Great Blue Djinn. At least, until she runs into a demon. Contains an OC main character and mild violence, homeless angels and epic fight scenes.
1. Chapter 1: I Set Off on a Quest

This is my first published story, so please give me constructive feedback! The next chapter will be coming soon.

Chapter One

 _I Set Off on a Quest_

Today, I decide wearily, is not my lucky day.

It's roughly three o'clock in the afternoon, and I'm currently wandering around New York City in pursuit of a pair of rogue djinn. Despite the fact that fall has only just begun, the air is damp and chilly, and the looming thunderclouds overhead hold the promise of rain.

I shiver and pull my pale grey jacket closer around myself, silently cursing the circumstances that forced me outside in such miserable weather. Two djinn of the Ghul tribe had recently run wild, abandoning all pretenses of authority and creating a massive path of destruction in their wake. The results had been so disastrous that it had attracted the attention of the Great Blue Djinn, Faustina, who for whatever reason had decided to assign me to the case.

As I wait impatiently for the bus to arrive, I can't help but wonder what on earth inspired Faustina to pick me of all people for this particular mission. After all, the Blue Djinn and I are not exactly known for getting along. Actually, the last time we met face to face had resulted in explosions, minor earthquakes (because Faustina has a nasty habit of making the ground rumble when she's angry) and a two-month imprisonment in a _very_ disgusting beer bottle for me.

Also, tracking down and restraining two full-sized djinn is no easy task, and definitely not one usually entrusted to a fifteen-year-old girl with obedience issues and a reputation for being a loner. The more I think about it, the more suspicious it seems the Faustina would give me such an important (not to mention perilous) assignment. Could this be her way of giving me a second chance after our last encounter? Judging by the obvious hostility in her voice as she explained the mission over the phone, I'd say not. Perhaps she merely thought I was the best djinn for the job. I _had_ demonstrated an extraordinary sense of responsibility and power on my last adventure with John and Philippa, after all. Maybe Faustina finally decided to overlook her dislike of me in light of my incredible skills and intelligence.

Yeah, right.

Then again, I'm attempting to locate two malicious djinn in a city of well over a million people. Even if I do manage to find them, which would pretty much take a miracle at this point, there's a good chance that I wouldn't be able to impede the rogues, much less overpower them. Actually, there's every chance that it will be me, and not the Ghuls, who ends up in some dingy bottle for the next century or so. Looking at it that way, this mission seems more like a self-inflicted punishment than a reward.

And that, at least, explains why Faustina gave me the mission in the first place. Either way, it's a win-win situation for her. If I succeed, two troublesome djinn will be safely contained until she can pass judgement on their fates. If I fail, it means I'll be out of her way for quite some time –assuming I survive at all.

I scowl and cross my arms. The knowledge that this mission may be Faustina's more or less subtle way of getting rid of me doesn't exactly make me eager to do it, but it's not like I have much of a choice in the matter. Once the Great Blue Djinn issues a command, you either fulfill it or die trying. Failing, giving up, or refusing –it doesn't matter. Either way results in shame and quite possibly death.

My scowl deepens. This is why I do my best to avoid other djinn and their strict rules and customs regarding the Balance or the amount of good and bad luck in the world or whatever's got their panties in a twist now. The mere idea that that stuck-up, pointy-nosed prat (I call Faustina a few more creative names that probably would get me exiled if I said them to her face) is using me for her own benefit makes me want to stomp all the way back to Berlin and inform her exactly what I think of her schemes.

Unfortunately, that isn't possible, so I content myself with finding a way to complete my mission without getting killed or stuck in a bottle and screwing up little Miss Perfect's plan, also preferably without dying.

The arrival of the bus interrupts my complicated plots for revenge. I jostle my way onboard amid a stream of other passengers and make my way to the back of the bus, keeping an eye out for a free seat. Naturally, there isn't one (even for me, this is seriously a bad day) so I resort to standing behind a clump of black-clad teenagers, who all seem to be completely engrossed in their cellphones.

Honestly, this is why I avoid people.

The last of the passengers file in, filling the already packed bus to the limit. People crowd each other for room amidst the chatter of voices and the muffled roar of the engine as the bus pulls away from the station and swerves into the hectic New York traffic.

I start to sweat despite the chill outside. The inside of the bus is stifling, a cramped metal box full of strangers. I'm acutely aware of people everywhere, sitting around me, swaying to the rhythm of the bus ahead of me, brushing against me whenever the bus takes a turn.

My mouth goes as dry as sandpaper. The crowd is pressed up against me, touching me. An arm rustles the back of my sweater and I stiffen, my heart jumping into my throat at the contact. Something flicks upward at the edge of my vision and I make the mistake of glancing up.

The corrugated metal ceiling presses down on me. The walls creak and groan, threatening to give way any second, closing in to crush me slowly-

I clench my fists and struggle to control my ragged breathing. The feeling of intense claustrophobia overwhelms me, making me want to scream and run outside into the fresh, wide-open air, but I resist the impulse. Barely.

My blunt nails dig into my palms. I stay like that for what feels like an eternity, frozen, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths, until I've calmed down enough to reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a small plastic container. My fingers fumble with the catch for a desperate moment, then a small dark grey pill falls into my palm. I swallow it as inconspicuously as I can, almost choking on it, and take a shuddering breath as the feeling of claustrophobia vanishes, replaced by a sensation of light and warmth that spreads steadily down to my toes. I sigh with relief and sag against one of the metal poles. A few people shoot me curious glances, but no one accuses me of illegal drug use or anything, thankfully.

Unfortunately, the nervousness and irritation at being surrounded by people remains, but there isn't really much I can do about that. Having spent most of my life in secluded places like lakeside cabins and assorted coca cola cans, I'm unused to small groups, let alone the massive crowds that traverse New York's streets every day. I sigh again and brush my dark hair out of my face, turning my attention back to the problem at hand. Now that I can think clearly again, I'm faced with how hopeless the whole thing is. It's insanity to think that I can possibly find two people, djinn or not, in a city of eight million people. In my briefing Faustina had said that Central Park was the last known location of the rogue djinn, but they're long gone by now –even an idiot knows better than to hang around when the Blue Djinn's after you.

Then my earlier wish for a miracle reoccurs to me, and I grin. If I'm lucky, I might just be able to get one.

A sudden vibration in my back pocket jerks me rudely out of my thoughts. I flinch and twist around, flushing as I try to spot the asinine idiot who'd dared to touch me there. To my slight surprise, I can't see anyone who looks particularly guilty. The teenagers are still deeply absorbed in their electronics. As far as I can tell, none of them have so much as twitched since I entered the bus. Two businessmen in dark suits sit on either side of me, one typing furiously into his laptop, the other muttering into his Bluetooth. Neither appears likely to have been the culprit.

I frown and slump back against the pole, running a careless hand through my hair, which is rapidly falling out of its messy ponytail and now resembles the aftermath of a minor hurricane. To my absolute outrage, something moves again in the exact same place. I swat at it, meaning to catch whoever's causing it…and feel the angular outlines of my new cellphone. Oops.

My cell vibrates again. I hastily take it out, hoping fervently that no one had noticed. I had only bought the stupid thing a couple of days ago, and I'd completely forgotten about it until now. Checking the screen, I'm flabbergasted to find two missed calls and six text messages. I'd only had the thing for two days, for goodness' sakes. Who the heck wants to talk to me this much?

To my relief, the first message is from Faustina's secretary, Abigail, asking for a report on my progress. I contemplate responding, and decide against it. Better wait until I have an actual lead, especially when it comes to Faustina. Besides, I'm not overly concerned with easing her impatience. Who knows, letting her pace around and grit her teeth over my tardiness might be good for her, if it means not instantaneously getting what she wants. Right?

With that thought in mind, I cheerfully delete Abigail's voice mail and move on to the second message. Tapping the screen, I'm startled to hear a very familiar girl's voice emanating from my phone.

 _"Hi, Emma? This is Philippa. Nimrod told us you got a cell phone, so we thought we'd check up on you and see how you're doing…call me when you get this. We're hoping we could maybe meet up sometime if you're in the area. So, um, call me. Thanks."_

I hesitate, my finger hovering above the 'reply' button. It would be nice to see John and Philippa again, admittedly, if only to see two friendly faces in this swarm of strangers. If I remember correctly, their house is only a few miles away from my destination. Maybe I could stop by, or even stay the night if my search lasts that long. The thought's more tempting than I care to admit, even to myself. After spending so much time alone, just the thought of seeing the twins again is tantalizing.

I sigh and lean back against the pole again, switching to text messages with a quick flick of my finger. Maybe, after I finish my mission, I'll stop by the Gaunts' place. But until then, seeing my friends again is a luxury I can't afford. Faustina's patience won't last forever, assuming she hasn't already sent someone after me, and the longer the Ghuls are allowed to roam free the more destruction they'll cause, which is something I'm technically supposed to prevent. At the very least, I'll have something to look forward to when all this is over.

The first text is some note or other from the phone company, offering freebies. I delete it idly and move onto the second. Ditto. The third is a text from John (how do they know my number?) asking if I know the forty-second chapter, section B of the Bagdad Rules. Amazingly enough, I actually vaguely remembered it, something about the specifics of a duel between two djinn of the same tribe.

Actually sending a text message is a bit harder than I expected, but after some experimentation -and feeling like a complete idiot when it comes to modern technology- I manage to reply with a more or less comprehensible answer (yes, why?) That done, I quickly flip through the last four, which comprised of a note from Nimrod, informing me that I was invited to some party or another, another message from Abigail, and a text from Philippa, asking if I was interested in attending the Astaragali tournament this June.

The last text has no address or subject. Curious, I open it and find two words: Hello again.

I read the cryptic message, my dark brows knitting together in a puzzled frown. There's no return number or name, nothing to show who could have sent it, just those two words. With a shrug I turn off the phone and tuck it back into my pocket. I'll solve that particular mystery sooner or later. Right now I have way bigger problems to deal with.

The loudspeaker crackles overhead. "Main Street," announces an electronic-sounding female voice. The bus jerks to a stop. I stumble forward into the stream of people as they rush to exit the bus and get caught up in the swarm, moving with the crowd as it sweeps out of the snorting vehicle and into the station.

I maneuver my way over to the shelter of a nearby bench and plop down under the dirty plastic roof, glancing up at the looming clouds. True to their promise, a light rain had begun to fall, sprinkling the pavement with tiny raindrops that quickly coalesce into a smooth sheet of liquid. I straighten with a sigh and unsling my backpack off my shoulder and dig through it, searching for a map. I could've sworn I'd put one in here before setting off, but either it's migrated to the very bottom of the pack again or I'd forgotten it. I sigh again and glance around to make sure no one's looking, then mutter " _Sephoris."_

A detailed map of New York City appears in my backpack. As an afterthought I repeat my focus word and tuck my newly acquired mini umbrella into my bag, then unfold the map and spread it over my lap.

To my surprise, I had actually navigated the bus stops correctly; the place I was looking for is only a few blocks away. Feeling slightly more cheerful, I open my umbrella, toss my backpack over one shoulder, and step out into the drizzle and begin to make my way through the packed streets of one of America's busiest cities.

Fifteen minutes later, I arrive at the homeless shelter on Fifth Avenue. The plain, white-washed one-story building with graffiti scrawled across is relatively dinky compared to the battered shops on either side of it. A small group of people hang out around the sheltered entrance, out of the rain, smoking and chatting. They fall silent as I approach, eyeing me like they're weighing the benefits of mugging me. I quicken my pace, unable to help the stirrings of trepidation inside of me, even though I know there's nothing they can do to hurt me, but it's harder than I thought to ignore the mundane instincts that are screaming for me to walk away. Apparently self-survival is dominant in all races, not just humans.

I halt in front of the entrance and furtively scan the faces of the ragged people gathered around me. In a sudden moment of panic, I realize that I don't recognize any of them. This is bad. I hadn't planned for this. Where did homeless people hang out when they weren't at the shelter? I don't have time to search every street corner on the block, much less the entire city.

I chew on my lip uncertainly, thinking hard. At last, having no other alternative, I turn to the nearest person, a big black guy in a battered leather jacket, and ask tentatively, "Excuse me, do you know where Charlie is?"

He gives me a suspicious look and chews on his cigarette. "What d'you want w' Charlie?"

Well, at least he knows who I'm talking about. "Um, I need to ask him something," I say truthfully. The low mutters that greet my response are not encouraging, but I plow on, "It's really important. In fact," I add meaningfully, "I'd be willing to compensate anyone who gives me the information I need."

Crap. That sounded weird. This is the problem with learning how to talk to people from books. I have no idea what constitutes a normal conversation.

The group exchanges looks. I can't exactly blame them –I probably sound like I came from seventeenth-century Britain. One of the younger ones, a tall boy about my own age, steps forward and gives me a crooked smile. "Sure. Charlie's in the park somewhere." He gestures back in the direction I had come from. "Ya can find him by the statues."

"Statues?" I echo, puzzled. The older man I had been talking to before stares at me like I'm a complete idiot. "Yeah, the statues in Central Park. You ain't ever gone there before?"

I hadn't, but I nod anyway. "Oh. Right. Well, thank you for your help." I dig into the pocket of my jacket and pull out a couple of twenty-dollar bills. I divide the amount in half and hand them to the man and the boy, enjoying their expressions of astonishment as I stroll away. Apparently they hadn't actually thought I'd meant it.

According to my map, Central Park was just a little over a mile away. Normally I would've just walked the distance, but since I'm in a hurry and there's no way I'm taking the bus again (I shudder at the thought) I do what any djinn in a rush does. I turn into a bird.

Okay, well, technically I could transform into a squirrel or rodent or any other small animal in the area, but birds are far more conventional, not to mention fun. All I have to do is find one. I was hoping for a falcon or osprey, but since those are a little scarce in New York City, I settle for a pigeon. There are hundreds of the winged creatures all around me, strutting on the damp pavement and chasing pedestrians, bobbing their heads and making that ridiculous sound somewhere between a throaty coo and a croak. I sigh and head for the nearest alleyway. They definitely aren't my favorite kind of bird, but they'll do in a pinch.

Once in the alleyway, I find a spot where I'll be invisible to most passersby and crouch down behind an overflowing dumpster to wait for the first unsuspecting pigeon to wander by.

My patience rapidly expires in about the first five minutes. None of the pesky birds look tempted to venture into my shadowy enclosure, so I resort to drastic measures: I wish for some pigeon feed and scatter it at my feet.

Instantly I'm mobbed by flocks of the feathery rodents, all squawking and flapping about wildly and smacking me with their wings. I sneeze and back away from the cloud of dust and feathers, and take advantage of the distraction to concentrate on a bird with dusky wings and dark plumage. I whisper my focus word.

One moment, I'm crouched in a dirty alleyway surrounded by pigeons, and the next, I find myself ruffling my grey-plumed wings in preparation to take off. My backpack had vanished, but I knew it would reappear along with my body as soon as I transformed back.

Feeling a little strange, I hop a few steps and experimentally raise my wings. A light breeze gusts beneath them, and the next thing I know, I'm soaring up between two towering skyscrapers towards the sky.

The sensation is so exhilarating that I laugh, but the sound comes out as a throaty coo. The breeze sweeps along my feathers, streaming across my back as I angle my wings and change direction, heading northward against the wind. Being a pigeon is a bit different from being an eagle or osprey, but flying is basically the same. I fumble for a moment, flapping against the wind, then remember the trick to it and swerve downwards again, swooping in a wide arc towards my destination.

I had known that Central Park was big, but I still experience a sense of awe as the first glimpse of leafy green comes into view. The park is massive, an isolated world of lush greenery intersected by branching paths and dotted with wooded copses. Compared to the monotonous view of grey office buildings surrounding it, it's like seeing a flourishing oasis in the middle of the Sahara.

The sight is so breathtaking, I almost forget how to fly. I've seen many spectacular landscapes before in my travels around the world, but few strike me as much as the glimpse of that solitary sanctuary of nature striving to endure in the modern world.

Landing is a bit of an issue, but after a few failed attempts I manage to alight on an outstretched branch and study my surroundings. There's no one nearby at the moment, so I glide down to the ground and waddle behind the tree, a few of my tail feathers still sticking up crookedly from my unsuccessful landing endeavors.

When I walk out from behind the tree again, it's in my normal body once more as a slender dark-haired girl in jeans and a pale grey jacket, my only abnormality being a few dusky feathers garlanding my curls.

I groan and stretch, wincing as bones pop in unusual places. Transformation can be tiring, and it often leaves behind side-effects such as inhuman senses and an occasional misplaced limb. That's usually why most djinn are cautious when it comes to changing shape, unless it's into their sacred animal. Each tribe has one, something they can transform into easily and for an unlimited amount of time.

As a member of the Marid, though, my sacred animal is unfortunately the camel. I mean, seriously? Even the Ifrit could at least change into snakes. Anytime I needed a long-term transformation, it had to be into a gross, smelly camel. Worse, they're not exactly stealthy like a snake or lizard. I figure that's why you never seen any of the Marid sneaking around –a big, bumbling camel in a dark alleyway is pretty much the opposite of inconspicuous.

Anyway, there doesn't seem to be much wrong with me other than a few stray feathers and a lingering desire to eat pigeon feed, so I find the closest pathway and set off through the park, keeping an eye out for any statues.

It doesn't take me long to spot my query. The path opens up into a courtyard of sorts, just a circular clearing lined with benches and rusty statues of famous people I probably should recognize. The benches are mostly full of elderly men tossing birdseed to the pigeons, but lounging on the stone pedestal of the largest statue is a young homeless guy, apparently napping.

He looks out of place in the green, neat park. His clothes are mostly rags, two or three tattered shirts patched together and ragged jeans that look as though he dug them out of a nearby dumpster, all thrown together without any visible discrimination. His sandy blonde hair is a curly mess, and up close you can see the beginnings of a scruffy beard spotted with crumbs. He looks pretty much like the average homeless guy hanging out in the park for a day or so, right up to the nauseating odor that drifts off him like an overhanging cloud of skunk stench.

I stroll up to the statue and sit down next to him. Bad idea. The small almost makes me gag, but I hastily mutter my focus word and temporarily lose any sense of smell (without losing my source of oxygen along with it, to my pleasant surprise –wishes like that are tricky to pull off).

At the sound of my voice, the guy cracks open one eye and gives me a careful once-over. I grin and lift a hand in a tiny wave. "Hey, Charlie. Long time no see."

Startlingly bright blue eyes open fully and consider me for a moment longer, then Charlie sits up and returns the grin, running a hand through his disheveled hair and covering a yawn. "Hey, Emma. What brings you to Central Park? Last time I saw you in New York, you and the twins were chasing down a mystery and needed answers."

I sheepishly rake my fingers through my hair. "Well, this time isn't too different, except John and Philippa aren't with me right now," I admit. Charlie grunts. "Some things never change. How's Faustina treating you?" he adds abruptly. "She won't be happy if you go back without the rogue djinn."

I shake my head. "I will never get used to you doing that, you know."

His grin broadens. "I know. But it's a good thing that I can, isn't it? Since that's what you came for. Information on the rogue djinn." His matter-of-fact tone makes it a statement, not a question.

"Should I even bother answering that?"

Instead of replying Charlie leans back and folds his hands behind his head, the picture of relaxation. "The better question is, why should I help you?" His voice is flat, emotionless. I think carefully before responding. "Aren't you supposed to help people? The rogue djinn will cause destruction, chaos, maybe even massacre. Don't you want to prevent that?"

"We are 'suppose' to keep an eye on things only. Perhaps test people of merit. Not interfere."

I huff in exasperation. "Fine. What can I do to prove my worth?" I paint quotation marks in the air around the words.

He hums thoughtfully under his breath. "For information of that caliber…a quest."

"I have to find them by tonight!"

Charlie straightens again and looks at me seriously. "This is the only way I can help you. Do you accept?"

I sigh. "Fine. So what's this quest?"

Charlie shrugs dismissively. "There's been sightings of a demon near the church of St. George on Seventh Avenue. Find it and get rid of it."

I raise my eyebrows. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

He shrugs again. "Holy water usually works. If not, try luring it inside the church. If the demon touches the alter, it should vanish."

"I hate 'shoulds'," I grumble, climbing to my feet. Another question occurs to me. "And why is a demon even haunting a church, anyway? I thought things like that avoided those places."

Charlie's voice is deceptively casual. "They do."

"So this one's different?"

He just lifts one shoulder and lets it fall again in a shrug, which isn't much of answer, but I'm getting interested now. "Why do you think a demon would haunt a church?" I ask curiously.

Charlie sighs and gets to his feet, brushing himself off briskly. "I hope you find out," he says gravely. His serious expression vanishes again as he gives me a cheerful grin and winks. "See you around, Emma."

A wind gusts out of the nearby woods and engulfs us. I smell rose petals. "Wait!" I say, but it's too late; the homeless young man who had been standing in front of me a few seconds ago is gone.


	2. Chapter 2: I Fight a Demon

**First update! I'm still getting used to being a 'published' author, haha.**

 **Enjoy! This is one of my favorite chapters (:**

 **Special thanks to Lucinda M. H. Cheshir for reviewing!**

 **Chapter Two:**

 _I Fight a Demon_

The church of Saint George on Seventh Avenue does not look like the kind of place that would house a demon. A single blackened bell tower juts precariously from a steepled roof, which no doubt had been very impressive once, but now is crowded in from either side by drab office buildings. The church itself is fairly small and dismal, with Gothic stone architecture and a decent collection of leering gargoyles. Looking up at it from the sidewalk alongside Seventh Avenue, it seems to me rather like a weary old man who had once been among the best of his race but now sits forgotten in the modern age.

The heavy black doors groan as though they had been recently rescued from a horror film set when I shove them open, and the dusty, dim interior resembles a scene out of T.S. Eliot's Murder in the Cathedral. I hold my sleeve in front of my nose to protect it when the swirling clouds of dust and tiptoe cautiously up the main aisle to the center of the church. Worn marble statues of long-forgotten saints line niches in the stone walls, their ivory arms outstretched in welcome, expressions of serenity or joy on worn, sculpted features that still express the mastery of their artists. Faded splashes of color can still be made out on the steep ceiling, but what really catches my eye is the massive block of granite perched atop the dais.

I approach the alter with a trace of reverence, eyeing it curiously. The granite block could have stood there for centuries, unnoticed by erosion or decay, its gleaming dark grey surface still as perfect as though it had just been carved. Immense, motionless, mesmeric, it exudes an air of carnal savagery and fear. Suddenly I understand why the demon chose this particular place to haunt. The alters' bare stone surface seems to hold memories of a darker era, when evil was worshiped and humans were sacrificed to bloodthirsty gods.

A shiver runs down my spine. Here, in the gloomy light filtering through the dusty stained glass windows, the past and the present seem to war for dominance. A beautiful, faded Catholic Church…and a sinister reminder of the barbaric past.

So that's why the demon came here. Charlie said that the alter would be fatal to it, but the alter is exactly what drew it here. I look around at the shadowy stone walls. So where _is_ the demon?

"Looking for something?" says a voice behind me. I jump. A young man strolls casually up the aisle towards me, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark jeans. He looks around twenty, cute in a dark, intriguing way, I suppose, with messy black hair and dark, piercing eyes.

"Not really," I say when I've caught my breath –all the thoughts of horror movies made me almost jump out of my skin when I heard his voice. "Just…admiring the view." I scrutinize him. "Are you the caretaker?"

The young man looks startled for a moment, then he glances down at his somber black shirt and laughs. "Something like that," he says easily. "What about you? Another tourist?"

I eye the dusty pews doubtfully. "Are there that many?"

"Not in ages." The stranger shrugs. "Even the priest is gone. There's talk of closing down the church for renovations." His mischievous black gaze meets mine, and he smiles. "I'm the only one left."

 _Ookay then_. Something about his smile makes a flicker of unease surface in the back of my mind. I manage a half-hearted smile in reply and edge my way over to the nearest pew. "Well, I'm just going to explore a bit if that's alright," I say with as much innocence as I can muster. As an afterthought I give him my most winning smile –dammit, my acting sucks- and do the age-old trick of trying to learn someone's name. "It was nice meeting you, Mister…?"

The stranger taps his chin thoughtfully. "You may call me Damon," he announces after a pause. A faint smile twists the corner of his mouth. "Yes, I rather like that."  
Well then. Make that a creepy old alter with an equally creepy crazy person. My smile grows a bit more forced. After an awkward moment of silence I turn and drop rather abruptly into a pew and bow my head in pretend prayer, waiting impatiently for him to go away.

He doesn't. Instead, as I watch him out of the corner of my eye through my dark bangs, he saunters back down the aisle and perches on the arm of the pew, watching me with disconcerting intensity. His sharp black gaze reminds me of a predator studying a new sort of prey it doesn't quite understand.

Minutes stretch on in silence. As far as I can tell, he never even blinks, staying perfectly still, his gaze never wavering. I am not so patient. As the seconds tick by all I can think about is my mission, how I need to find that stupid demon and how I can't investigate properly with a creepy young guy eyeballing the back of my head.

At last I stand again and casually wander over to the far wall, pretending to admire the nearest statue as I keep a sharp eye out for anything worth investigating. "Beautiful place, isn't it?" I remark.

The stranger shrugs and finally looks away. "I suppose," he says distastefully. "If you like places like this. I don't really like churches as a rule. Far too drafty, and the smell of incense makes my nose itch."

"Why do you come here, then?" I ask absently, focused on the shadowy space behind the dais.

"The alter." His voice changes almost imperceptibly. "It's…majestic, and filled with such good memories…"

An eerie suspicion takes root in the back of my mind. I look back at him, actually paying attention to him this time. "What kind of memories?"

He looks at me sharply. "Why do you want to know?"

Sensing this is a dangerous topic, I quickly switch subjects. "You know, I've heard rumors that this church is haunted. Maybe that's why it's abandoned."

"Really?" The stranger laughs. "Is that why you came?"

I shrug. "Partly," I say, and recklessly plunge on, "Have you ever heard any stories of demons living here?" I laugh, but I never take my gaze off the stranger.

The young man's expression darkens. He lets out a laugh even more forced than my own, which might explain why he was buying my act before. My smile grows satisfied. "I can't believe a demon would haunt a church, though," I go on carelessly, strolling around until I'm at the edge of his vision. He watches me, his dark eyes narrowed. "I mean, this is a holy place, right?" Another step takes me closer. "Good spot for exorcisms and all that, right? So why would a demon" –I'm only a few feet away now- "want to live here?"

The stranger twists to look at me warily, and I quickly turn to study the statue of a young girl standing beside a lamb, my mind racing. I hadn't expected it to be quite this easy, to be honest, but there's still the question of how to get rid of the demon if the alter is no longer an option. Charlie had mentioned holy water, but I want something a bit more substantial than a teaspoon of liquid.

Well, I suppose I'll just have to push some buttons first, just to be sure. It would probably be bad if I made a mistake and ended up stabbing an innocent guy by accident-sort-of-on-purpose. Not to mention that Faustina would definitely kill me, once she stopped laughing.

"Did you know," I say casually without turning, "that your name comes from the Latin word for demon?" The stranger tenses, his dark eyes suddenly alert. I turn and smile cheerfully at him. "Funny, that," I say. "Considering that there are rumors of a demon haunting here and all."

Damon stands, his gaze taking on a new intensity. "And why," he says slowly, "would you find that amusing?"

My smile betrays nothing of my thoughts. Acting may not be my strong suit, but I do know how to corner my prey once I've found it. "Oh, no reason. It's just that a certain angel asked me to exorcise a demon, and here I find you-"

He moves in a blur, fingers elongating into pale talons to slash at my face, but I had been waiting. With a shout of "Sephoris!" a silver sword materializes in my grasp and I bring it down hard.

The demon staggers back with a muffled growl of pain, his hand a bloody stump, his dark eyes blazing with hatred as he circles away. I bring the dripping blade up to bear, shifting into a fighting stance. "So silver does work on demons," I say with satisfaction. "I had my doubts about all those Hollywood movies, but they seem to have gotten something right, hmm?"

"Foolish human!" the demon growls, clutching his wounded arm. Black mist curls around the bleeding stump and is sucked back in to reveal his hand, whole once more.

"Nice trick," I say, giddy with adrenaline. "I wonder, will it still work when your head is no longer attached to your body?"

He snarls and lunges forward again, keeping a wary arm on the gleaming silver blade. I swing and he jerks back, his movements quicker and more fluid than any human's. I'm outmatched in speed and agility, I think grimly. Better not let him gain the advantage, or he'll tear me to pieces.

"I hate djinn," the demon growls. "Far too spicy, and they always give me indigestion."

"Good for you that you won't be able to eat me, then!"

It's a game of cat and mouse, and unfortunately I'm the mouse. No matter how much I jab out with the sword to fend him off, the demon has me backed against a column with nowhere to move while he lazily advances.

Perhaps I did not think this through all the way. Time to change things up a bit.

"Sephoris!" A silver dagger appears in my free hand. I fling it wildly at my attacker, not bothering to try to aim –I can't hit a sign from three feet away, much less a moving target. He ducks out of the way easily and eyes me with growing amusement. "You think you can drive me off?" he sneers, flitting past my next strike. "You can't even save yourself!" His pale hand snakes out and catches the next thing I throw at him. He stares at it. "A pencil?" he says in disbelief. "You tried to kill me with a _pencil_?"

"No," I say, and lunge forward to stab him in the heart. His dark eyes widen, then his edges blur and he silently dissipates into mist and fades away. I straighten up and brush myself off. "Not bad, if I do say so myself," I say with satisfaction, and turn towards the doors.

Looking back, I have no idea what made me duck. Maybe it was ninja-like reflexes I didn't know I possessed, or a sudden disturbance in the air behind me, but whatever the case, I managed to duck the swirling fist of darkness that appeared behind me to claw at the air where my head used to be.

The movement knocks me off balance. I flail wildly and topple forward with a startled gasp, instinctively tucking into a roll and somehow not managing to impale myself on my sword as I scramble to my feet. The roiling mass of shadow overhead echoes with evil laughter.

"Puny human!" it mocks, the young man's disembodied voice rebounding off the stone walls to echo around me. "To think that you could defeat me so easily! I am a demon, a lord of chaos, the creator of evil-"

"Yeah, yeah," I say, miffed about almost being decapitated by smoke. "Can we skip to the part where I kill you now?"

The voice seems to roll out of the dark cloud overhead, magnified a hundred times. "You cannot kill me, pathetic mortal!" it roars. "I am darkness itself! I have chosen this place for my dwelling, and you cannot prevent me!"

"Watch me," I say, and dive into the side room behind the alter, kicking the door shut in my wake. "Holy water," I mutter, rifling frantically through the cluttered shelves and drawers until I find a small bottle marked with a cross. "Ah-hah!"

Something pounds on the door, making the thick wood tremble. I grab the bottle and burst out again just in time to see the narrow trail of smoke hurtling towards me. Without thinking I swing the sword up to shield my face and the smoke dissipates against the silver, but another is already diving towards me in its place. This time the sword slashes straight through and the black mist scores a line of burning pain across my left shoulder. I stagger back with a grimace, yank the cork off, and chuck the bottle of holy water at the looming darkness like a grenade.

The bottle passes through the cloud, spraying liquid everywhere, and falls back to the ground with a loud clatter. A few straggling wisps of smoke fade away weakly.

I curse. "Charlie, I'm gonna kill you!" I growl, and duck as another line of swirling smoke barrels past my head. That's when I notice the thin, almost invisible tendril of smoke stretching down from the broiling dark cloud to the alter. My earlier suspicions about the alter come back in full force.

The alter. That's what's keeping him here. So if I destroy the connection…

Dodging another smoke missile, I dive for the massive block of granite and hack at the stone with my sword. The silver blade shatters like ice, shards spraying everywhere. The alter isn't even scratched.

At least the demon/massive cloud of evil smoke seems fairly slow. Roaring in anger, it lashes out with a swirling black fist the size of a pew. I roll to one side, barely avoiding it, and shout out my focus word. "Sephoris!"

A giant spotlight like the kind used in football stadiums appears in the center of the aisle to pierce the cloud with a blinding column of light. The cloud shrieks and writhes, coiling in on itself. I use the temporary distraction to wish for a hammer –not one of those tiny little things you can hold in one hand, but a massive, heavy-duty mallet with a long handle like you see at construction sites. This time, a small crack appears when I heave the mallet into the air and slam it down onto the surface of the stone. The crack widens at my next blow, spreading to form a spider web of lines crisscrossing the dark grey surface.

In front of the alter, the demon finally recovers enough to smash the spotlight. The glass cracks, the light flickering and dying. The cloud billows back to its full height with a roar of triumph as I raise the mallet one last time and bring it crashing down onto the web of cracks. The alter cracks straight down the middle with a dull boom. I drop the mallet, panting, my arms throbbing.

The cloud shrieks. I yelp and clamp my hands over my aching ears as the shriek turns into a drawn-out wail that grows steadily thinner as the cloud is sucked in on itself, writhing and twisting into a swirling column until at last all that's left is a small wisp of smoke hovering dazedly a foot or two off the floor.

After a minute, I slowly get to my feet and walk over and look down at all that's left of the demon. Apparently destroying the alter shattered most of its power along with it. I grin evilly and say my focus word.

"A vacuum cleaner," Charlie says flatly. "You put the demon in a _vacuum cleaner_."

I grin and hold up the small, hand-held vacuum, still giddy over my victory. "Yep," I say cheerfully. "So, what's my reward?"

Charlie gives me another look, shaking his head in disbelief, as though it's my fault the stupid demon is in a vacuum cleaner. Well, alright, so technically it is, but hey, the stupid lord of chaos or whatever totally deserved it. Besides, my shoulder still hurts.

"He had it coming to him," I tell Charlie. "So, my reward?"

Charlie sighs. "The information you seek is relatively simple," he says. I frown. "Then why-"

"The rogue djinn are in Manhattan," Charlie says, cutting me off. "Look for the Twisted Candle Café. You'll find them there."

I'm still frowning. "Wait, if the information is simple, then why-"

Charlie smiles crookedly. "And one more thing," he says, ignoring my question. "A warning. The rogue djinn aren't the only problem you'll run into in Manhattan."

"That is…not incredibly helpful," I say. "When you say problem, do you mean-"

"Good luck, Emma," Charlie says, already turning away. "Be careful." He glances back and gives me his signature crooked smile. "And be on the lookout for an old friend."

The way he says that sounds rather ominous. I take a step after him as the breeze picks up. I smell rose petals. "Wait, Charlie-"

But he's already gone. The old man feeding the pigeons is carefully looking away in that way people do when you're acting crazy and talking to yourself. I grit my teeth. That's when I realize that Charlie never took the vacuum cleaner.

The pigeons scatter as I do some very creative Shakespearean cursing. The old man gives me a reproachful look that I ignore.

I glare at the vacuum cleaner. The wisps of smoke inside the clear plastic container flatten against its sides. "Bloody angels," I mutter, and stalk off back towards the city, still carrying the vacuum and muttering about annoying angels who think they're being helpful and cryptic messages and obnoxious Blue Djinns.

That's when I realize that I'll have to take another bus to get to Manhattan.

I take it back.

Today is officially the worst. Day. Ever.


End file.
